


I'll Fly for You

by TheSilverSiren



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But the feelings become genuine, Edward loves Isabella, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Isabella is not who she appears to be, One-Sided Attraction, Oswald loves Edward, Oswald uses someone as a crutch, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-23 19:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverSiren/pseuds/TheSilverSiren
Summary: My own take of 'Gotham' from Season 3, episode 6 to the end of the series, focusing mainly on Oswald's story arc. This is also a follow-up to my one-shot, 'The Rustle of Wings'. For a proper introduction to my OC, please go read that. As Oswald stews in his hurt and jealousy over Ed's relationship with Isabella (whose character differs from canon), he decides to distract himself with the young woman who comforted him on the night that Edward missed their date.This young woman is Fleury Belkin, an aspiring violinist and a 'monster' of Hugo Strange's. Her 'monstrosity' manifests in four, insect-like wings that protrude from her back. Fleury, whose cheeriness and wise-cracking attitude hides a dark past, soon finds a place in Oswald's life - in part to get away from her ailing, domineering, and emotionally abusive mother. Fleury aids him not only emotionally but professionally, all the while unaware that Oswald is only using her as an emotional crutch. But sooner or later, the truth always comes out.This story will be updated twice a week.Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Original Female Character(s), Victor Zsasz & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 6





	1. Crutches and Corsages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ExploringClouds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploringClouds/gifts).



> This is dedicated to ExploringClouds, who gave me the encouragement and interest that I needed to turn this story into a reality. For the moment, there will be no smut. But when it DOES arrive, I will place a warning in the Notes. I hope that you enjoy it. Please, let me know what you think.

As pale sunlight streamed into the bedroom, bringing Oswald back from a death-like sleep brought on by booze, he initially believed that it had all been a dream. The dinner. Ed's absence. The woman with wings growing out of her back. His urgency to see her gone, only to tearfully beg her to stay. It _had_ to have been a dream, right? With the exception of Fish Mooney herself, all of Hugo Strange's monsters were dead. Oswald, and the mob that he had incited, had seen to that. Surely, that woman - Fleury, that had been her name - had been a product of his tired, alcohol-riddled imagination. It made sense. Broken-hearted and lonely, Oswald's fevered mind had conjured up a replacement for Edward as a coping mechanism. Why that replacement would be a woman didn't surprise Oswald - man or woman, his heart made no distinction. But why on earth did she have to have wings?

Oswald's theory, however, began to fall apart once he got a better look around the mansion. There was a dent in the bed's blankets, as though someone had sat beside him. Dark brown hairs, far too long and curly to be Ed's, were scattered across the house. A stove had been switched on in one of the guest rooms. By the fire was a game of chess, along with two empty dinner platters. Oswald knew that he hadn't eaten two portions. His stress and sorrow had closed his stomach enough to make _one_ meal difficult to swallow.

Which could only mean one thing: Fleury, whoever - or whatever - she was, had been real. 

But right now, that didn't matter. Ed still hadn't come home. At this point, Oswald did not care that Ed had stood him up. He needed his Chief of Staff back home and safe. It was simple as that.

Trembling, Oswald limped his way to the phone, ready to file a missing persons report.

***

Hours passed like minutes. The crowds dispersed, and the backgrounds changed. Ed's sole focus was Isabella. So like Kristen, yet surpassing her in a thousand little ways. That same silky hair, albeit a different color. Those same dazzling jade eyes. That same smooth, almost poreless skin. That same voice, as gentle as the coo of a dove. And yet, Isabella embraced him where Kristen had initially kept her distance. Isabella adored riddles while Kristen had blinked blankly at them. Isabella returned his affection, whereas Kristen had kept him at an arm's length for so, dreadfully long. If someone had told Ed that such a thing was possible, then he would have written off their words as a cruel joke. And yet, here he was. Talking to a woman who, in the span of a single night, had stolen his heart, locked it, and thrown away the key.

As they sat on the front steps of Isabella's apartment building, Ed leaned in for another stolen kiss. That was when the morning paper landed at their feet. Yanked back to reality, Ed chuckled in spite of himself. "What time is it?" He asked, looking to his watch. Isabella did the same. "It's just past six." She reported. Those words were said gently. Yet they singed Ed's heart like hot tongs. He looked around, and only now noticed how the lampposts had been switched off. How the dark sky had become light gray. His stomach sank. He, by contrast, stood up. Casting his mind back, he realized where he had been meant to go. Whom he had arranged to be with. And how much anxiety he had no doubt caused. 

Isabella's voice, sweet as honey, said his name. Ed turned to her, and his concern was quelled. "The last twelve hours have been the best of my life." Isabella told him, her eyes boring into his. "When can we meet again?" Something about her tone indicated that she would not take 'no' for an answer. Ed's heart swelled. He answered her with a riddle. Of course. "What can't you have for breakfast or lunch?"

"Dinner!" Isabella answered instantly, her smile bright enough to illuminate a city block. "I'd love to."

Trying to keep his pounding heartbeat under control, Ed grinned. "Delightful. Meet me at the mayor's mansion at eight." Fumbling with his coat buttons, he descended the steps. Yet even this distance was too much. Turning around, he sealed their arrangement with a kiss. She responded, innocently yet hungrily.

Still smiling like a clown, Ed departed. 

***

From the moment Edward Nygma turned his back, Isabella's expression shifted. It darkened, as though a cloud had passed over her face. She glared at the retreating figure, heart pounding for a very different reason than his. Her hand wiped at her lips more forcefully than was necessary. How many times had he kissed Kristen like that? How many kisses had it taken for him to cloud her sister's mind, until she was too blind to see the danger that she was in? Blinking back tears, Isabella - or, as she was once known, Crystal - retreated into the building. She would need to detox from spending twelve hours with that killer, especially since they would be meeting again tonight. A part of her wanted to do away with him now. Maybe spike his drink and bash his head in with a bat. But Kristen deserved more than that. Everything had to be perfect.

***

There are many sorts of artists. Some paint, some sculpt. There are those that write stories, and those that prefer poetry. Some people indulge in their craft anywhere if they have the inspiration for it. Others can only tap into their creativity when they are alone, or someplace familiar. Fleury Belkin was the latter. But her familiar spot was not her bedroom - or her house at all, for that matter. No. Her favorite haunt was the top of Wayne Enterprises - over two thousand feet from the bustling streets below. Normally, it would have been impossible to reach that spot without the right documents and quite a bit of hush money to throw around. Fleury had something much more reliable: four shimmering, four-foot-long wings growing out of her back. 

Up there, with nothing but the strong wind and passing clouds for company, Fleury was the queen and mistress of her own little world. Summoning her beloved violin from its box, she would get into position and begin to play. Sometimes, they were songs that she had learned over the course of her twenty-eight years. Other times, she would let her mind go blank and let her hands do the playing. This morning, after a sleepless night, was one of the latter occasions. Her wings hung behind her like banners, tickling the back of her shins. With the cold wind nipping at her face and hands, Fleury played a tune that was soft with sorrow, yet peppered with lighter moments. Such were her feelings towards her unexpected evening with the mayor.

Fleury, like many, had voted for Oswald Cobblepot. It had been a ridiculously easy choice, given that his rival was Aubrey James, a doughy, weak, cowardly man who was as pathetic as he was ineffective. Because of her mother's sickly state, Fleury had taken the liberty to vote for her - once again ticking the box next to the Penguin's name. While being familiar with his shady history, especially since quite a bit of it came close to home, Fleury had believed his speeches. There had been an earnestness there that could not be faked, and that was what had compelled her to choose him. Besides, the city was rife with crime - it always had been. The men of the law had rarely done anything to clean it up, except for arming the cops to the teeth for 'the greater good'. In Fleury's opinion, a criminal was better suited for the job. Especially one as determined as this.

And yet, Fleury never would have dreamed of actually meeting Oswald Cobblepot one day, never mind eat dinner and play chess with him. She had sneaked into what she had thought to be an empty house to rest her wings. Moments later, she'd found herself literally hitting the ceiling as the mayor threatened her with a knife. It hadn't taken long for Fleury to see, however, that the frothing-at-the-mouth fury had only been a mask to hide the deep pain. That was why she had gone to see if he was all right, and had subsequently stayed when he had asked her to. The entire evening had been surreal, but wonderful. Leagues better than spending yet another night spoon-feeding her mother, emptying her bedpans, and doing her mother's laundry. 

The music picked up in both pace and volume, in tune with the rising wind. Smiling, Fleury closed her eyes and lost herself to the sweet, high notes of her violin. "Oswald," she said, "this one's for you."

***

_"I think I'm in love."_

Oswald had wanted to hear those words so badly. What a cruel twist of fate that he should hear them from the one he loved...only for those words to be referred to someone else. For the rest of the morning, those words rang in his head like a gunshot. Mocking him. Torturing him. So distraught was he that even an official invitation to the Founder's Dinner could not ease his agony.

Ed was there, in one of the mansion's numerous rooms, as Oswald prepared his suit. Determined to make a good impression. He helped him try on jackets, offered suggestions. But he wasn't really there. Oswald could see it even now, whenever he looked into those lovely brown eyes. Even now, Ed was thinking of her. Kringle's blonde clone. How such a thing was even possible defied explanation. In truth, Oswald didn't really care. All he cared about was that, even from beyond the grave, that woman had her claws deep into Ed.

That deep, articulate voice snapped Oswald out of his thoughts. "You are going to cut quite the fine figure at the Founder's Dinner tonight." Those strong hands helped Oswald into his jacket, a deep cobalt made from the finest silk. Oswald, closing the buttons on his front and sleeves, smirked despite his inner shell of pain. "Yes." Looking at himself now, he could almost forget who he was, and where he'd come from. Almost. Clearing his throat, he asked Ed, "Did you know that this dinner has been thrown annually for over two hundred years?" Ed's eyes sparkled with interest. Eager to intrigue his love more, Oswald continued. "Only the most powerful citizens are invited." He chuckled. "Too bad I don't have a plus one." Secretly, he begged Ed to reconsider. To cast this fair-haired vixen and return to the way things should be.

Instead, Ed said, "I can't go anyway. I have a date." He turned away, headed for the stacks of ties.

Oswald tried to keep (most of) the emotion out of his voice. "With a woman you claim to be in love with despite only knowing for a few hours?"

He could hear the smile in Ed's voice. "The heart keeps its own time."

Ed might as well have stabbed him in the heart with an ice-pick before filling the bloody hole with salt. That would have hurt less. Oswald closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He managed to pull himself together just in time for his Chief of Staff to reappear, holding a tie the color of grapes against Oswald's chest. "I'm partial to the purple."

Oswald chuckled. "The brochè brings out my eyes." He hoped to spark the smallest interest, something, in Ed with that statement. Maybe get his friend to look at him a bit more closely. But Ed only pulled away, putting the ties back. Daringly, Oswald asked, "Are you sure that you're not confusing infatuation for love? You did say that she was the spitting image of Kringle."

Ed turned back to Oswald. Far from angry or concerned, he simply sighed like a lovestruck schoolboy. "Isabella is beautiful, and smart. So she has a... _passing_ resemblance with Kristen. It's probably just the universe giving me a second chance."

Oswald stared at his Chief of Staff, his best friend, the love of his life, desperately trying not to break down. At the same time, a dark hatred began to simmer within him, and it was directed entirely at this Isabella. Everything had been going so well, until she came along. Soon, he would have to pay her a little visit. With a pair of sharpened scissors, ideally.

"Do you mind if I go get ready?" Ed asked. "We have a date tonight."

Oswald smiled, and hoped that it didn't look as queasy as it felt. He took the tie from his friend, and making sure to brush their fingers together in the process. "Who am I to stand in the way of love?" Ed needed no further prompting. He was gone before Oswald could count to three. So eager was he for this date, so excited. Oswald stood there for a long moment, barely in control of himself, before crashing into a nearby chair. The tears from last night threatened to make a return. Sighing, he pressed his hands against his closed eyes. Willing the tears to go back to their ducts. The minutes ticked by, tense and silent and murky as swampwater.  
For years, Oswald had hoped to attend the Founder's Dinner. It was the ultimate proof that he had made it. That he was somebody. The King of Gotham's underground, and the mayor of its light side. And yet, he felt neither joy nor satisfaction. He had no desire to attend, not when he knew that Edward would be spending that time in the arms of that woman. His victory had turned to ash at a moment's notice.

That was when something deep inside Oswald clicked into place. He may have been powerless to win Ed back, at least for the moment, but that did not mean that he had to take this humiliation lying down. 

A figure appeared in his mind's eye. A young woman with olive skin, tangled hair, and wings growing out of her back.

Oswald reached into his trousers' pocket and called a familiar number. 

After two rings, the person on the other end picked up. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Victor," Oswald said coolly, "I need you to come here immediately...and deliver a letter to someone. Only, I don't know where that person lives."

On the other end, the best assassin in Gotham snorted. "Don't we got mailmen for that kinda thing?"

"Yes," Oswald allowed, "but I think you'll have fun sussing out this particular target, Victor. For you see, she has wings."

A moment's pause. Then: "She has what now?"

"Wings, my good fellow." Oswald smiled coldly. "You know, the sort that allow birds and insects to take flight. Only herself are noticeably larger. Think of it as shooting at clay pigeons. Only I don't want her harmed. Just deliver my letter, and go. How does that sound?"

"How does that sound?" Victor cackled. "Sounds like a great chance for me to keep my tracking skills sharp. I'll be there in five!" With that, he hung up. Oswald dropped the phone on the table, turning back to his reflection. He was certain that that woman - Fleury - would not refuse. It wasn't every day that the mayor asked you to be his arm candy at the most exclusive dinner in Gotham's history. Especially if you're one of Hugo Strange's monsters.


	2. A Night to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fleury and Oswald prepare for the Founder's Dinner...in their own way. Neither quite knows what to expect. One is excited - and more than a little disbelieving - about who she's going with. The other can only think about the one he couldn't go with. But one thing's for certain: it's going to be a night to remember.

Victor Zsasz was many things. A messenger boy was not one of them. But his boss had described a target far too interesting to pass up. A young woman, maybe in her late twenties, completely ordinary in appearance...except for four large, petal-shaped wings growing out of her back. Her name was Fleury. Surname, unknown. Victor had tracked people down with far less information, and they had (for the most part) been way less fascinating. The invitation that his boss had written up for this mystery woman was tucked in Victor's pants, which were so tight that he was confident that it wouldn't fall out. 

It didn't take too long. Less than two hours, in fact. All he'd had to do was break into Arkham (which had all the security of a cheap playpen) and hold a gun to a secretary's head while the terrified soul looked through the 'confidential' files. 'Fleury' wasn't exactly a common name, so it was laughably easy to pick her out among the long list of monsters. There, next to a black-and-white photo, was all of the woman's data, including her full name, address, and blood type. (Victor was amused to see that he and Fleury had the same blood type: O Positive.)

After that, it was only a bus ride to the target's home address. Needless to say, the bus emptied rather quickly once the other passengers realized who the bald man in skin-tight leather was. Victor didn't mind. In fact, he enjoyed the elbow room. Stretching his long legs across the seats next to his, he stuck some chewing gum in his mouth and spent the rest of the trip blowing bubbles. It wasn't the scariest, or most professional, use of his time; but it was fun.

Finally, Victor found himself in front of the address. The neighborhood wasn't nasty by Gotham standards, nor was it as destitute as the Narrows. But the place _was_ on the edge of collapse. The sidewalk was cracked and overgrown with weeds. More than half the houses were either abandoned or for sale. Kids were sitting on the front steps, sharing bottles of beer hidden in brown paper bags. In the corner, there was a little old lady pushing along a trolley filled to the brim with bags and items. Once upon a time ago, this might have been a perfectly nice, homey place to raise a family. But those days were long gone. The darkening storm clouds overhead did not aid the place's aesthetic.

Victor looked at the buzzers near the door. There, on the second-to-last floor, was the name 'Belkin' written in Sharpie. He buzzed.

For a few seconds, there was no answer. Victor considered ringing again when he heard a window opening above his head. "Hello?" A girlish voice called out. Victor looked up, and saw the color version of the photograph. A young woman with olive skin, dark brown hair that looked like it hadn't been combed since the last election year, and eyes the soft blue of denim. Their eyes met. Fleury's face blanched. "Victor Zsasz?" She gasped. "What...what are you doing here?" She sounded more than a little afraid.

Victor smirked, raising his hands in surrender. "Relax, dollface. I'm not here to hurt ya. The mayor sent me." He winked. "I think you know him."

Fleury blinked down at him, dumbfounded. She looked like she was going to say something when a screeching voice yelled behind her, "WHO IS IT?" Victor, who had seen some of the worst that Gotham had to offer, cringed at the sound.  
Fleury turned back. "It's...nobody, Mama!"

"Well, tell them to go away!" Fleury's mother yelled.

Fleury sighed. "One minute, Mama." With that, she opened the window more. Swinging a leg out, she brought half her body outside. True to Oswald's words, four wings hummed to life behind her. Victor watched, jaw dropped, as the woman slowly glided down to meet him. Her posture was almost completely still, while her wings were a bluish blur behind her. Finally, her bare feet landed on the steps before him. Her wings came into focus as they stilled. They matched the boss's description. Indeed, they surpassed it. Each wing was four feet in length and at least half a foot in width. They flexed and twisted like sheets, yet their translucency revealed no bones. Victor was transfixed, but soon snapped his attention back to the wings' owner. She was a little on the short side - four-five-two - and was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans so baggy that her shape was impossible to make out. "So, you're the lucky lady."

Fleury blinked. "Huh?"

Victor produced the envelope from his trousers' pocket and handed it to her. She stared at it as though it were made of pure gold. Her thumb traced the wax seal keeping it closed, then tracing her name written neatly on the front. After a moment, she shook her head and tried to return it. "No. There must be a mistake."

Victor raised his brows. "Is there another Fleury Belkin living here?"

"No."

"Is there another lady with wings in this city?"

"I doubt it."

"Well, then." Victor smirked. "That about narrows it down, doesn't it?"

"But...but why?" Fleury sounded genuinely baffled. "Why would he want to go out with me?" There was something in the way she asked this, the genuine wonder behind her words, that touched Victor. He found his smirk softening, and he adjusted his posture in order to come off as less intimidating. "Well, why not?" He asked. "You seem pretty cool."

Fleury blinked at him before chuckling, clearly unused to being talked to like this. She played with the envelope, as if unsure whether to open it or not, before smiling at Victor. Not a sight that he was used to. "Thanks." She paused before adding, "So...what time?"

Victor grinned. "Six. We'll bring the limo, and you bring yourself. Trust me, that'll be enough." 

Fleury blushed, looking away. "Thank you, Mr. Zsasz. You..." She looked back at the invitation, chuckling. "You've definitely brightened my day." Another thing that he wasn't used to. Then again, with Mommie Dearest upstairs, Victor could believe it. He saluted her, already descending the steps. As his boots led him away, he found himself turning back just in time to see Fleury take flight again. She reached the window from which she had emerged. Then, seemingly sensing his eyes on her, she turned. Again offering him a smile, she raised a hand in farewell. Victor mirrored it. 

***

So. This was the minx that had bewitched Edward. She did indeed look just like Kringle. The two of them could have been twins. The same face, the same voice, the same body type..the only difference was the hair. Instead of fiery red, this woman had platinum locks carefully swept up in a bun. The very sight of her infuriated Oswald. Yet he maintained his posture. "I am attending the Founder's Dinner this evening." He informed her. "And I wanted to brush up on the history of Gotham's first families. My Chief of Staff suggested I come here." He raised his brows, still simpering. "I think you might know him."

Smiling shyly, Isabella nodded. "Yes, I know Edward. We just met, but I feel like I've known him my whole life." She sighed, adopting a dreamy-eyed look.

Oswald's faux smile had been on the verge of melting, but he slapped it back on just in time. "How romantic!"

"Oh," Isabella turned away, "listen to me blathering on. You wanted a book?" She began to rummage through her files, searching for the right volume to give him. Oswald meanwhile took in his surroundings. There was nothing extraordinary about this place. It was a large building, within which were shelves upon shelves of books. It was a bit dusty, but not too much as to give off the air of abandonment. Oswald had spent many days in a place such as this in his childhood. While the other kids played and laughed, he would stay inside and bury his head into any thick text that he could get his little hands on. The characters in those books had felt more real to him than those that ignored or bullied him in class.  
That was when something caught his eye. A line of paper people, holding hands, sitting on Isabella's desk. Some of them had her likeness. Others had Ed's. It was more than a little creepy, Infantile. Like a teenager drawing a bunch of hearts over her crush's face. Channeling his discomfort and jealousy into laughter, he remarked, "I'm so glad you appreciate Ed."

Noticing the paper people, Isabella quickly shoved them into the drawer. Even from this distance, Oswald could see her reddened cheeks. Good. He'd made her uncomfortable. That was just the start. Waiting a couple of beats, he spoke again. "Really, I should thank you for brightening Ed's spirits." He feigned concern, complete with a mournful head-shake. "He has been so down since he got out of Arkham."

Isabella's face froze over, like a doll left out in a snowstorm. Slowly, nervously, she edged closer to him. "Edward was in Arkham?" Bless her soul, she was trying to sound fearless. But Oswald was a shark. He could smell blood in the water a mile away. "You don't know." It was not a question. "It was front-page news."

"I stick to books." Isabella studied his face, her own underlined with panic. "Don't people typically go to Arkham for murder?"

Giving a dramatic pause, Oswald spoke. "I make it a policy not to gossip about staff, but..." He scrounged up his face, as though the very concept caused him conflict, before mouthing 'yes' to her in a pantomime fashion. Watching the color drain from her face was better than sipping the finest wine. She drifted away like a ghost, gathering the papers needed for Oswald to take the book from the library. Oswald did not let his prey escape. Determined to scare her one last time, he approached her again. So close that some passenger-by's might think that he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do anything but that. Shaking his head in partially false amazement, Oswald told the shaken woman, "Uncanny, how much you look like her." He lowered his gaze slightly. "It's that swan-like neck."

With a trembling hand, Isabella touched her neck.

Oswald smirked. "Ed loves a neck!" He broke down into peals of laughter, fueled even more by the queasiness in the woman's expression. "Well, thank you for the book." He took it from her limp hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you." He winked at her, marching off on his cane. He felt as though he'd just walked out of the spa. Refreshed. Pampered. Relaxed. Now, he felt that he could _really_ enjoy his evening. If Fleury turned out to be boring, or stupid, or both, Oswald would only have to imagine Isabella's terrified face.  
Hopefully, this would be sufficient to get this minx to back off.

***

Crystal stood there for a long time after the mayor had left. Her hand, still resting on her throat, was as clammy as a stone. Tears were filling her eyes, and her breath came out in short, nervous gasps. She all but crashed into her seat. Not a second later, she was sobbing in her hands. 

'Ed loves a neck.'

Was that how he'd killed her sister, then? By strangling her? Crystal and her parents had never known. By the time they'd finally been given Kristen's remains, they had been chopped into bits and so decomposed that the cause of death had been impossible to decipher. They had opted for a closed casket funeral, and Mrs. Kringle had sobbed enough to nearly pass out. Crystal had stood there, watching as the coffin was lowered into the ground, slowly coming to the realization that she would never see her sister again. All their lives, the two of them had been halves of a whole. They had looked so alike that they would use each other as mirrors. They would laugh together, cry together, do everything together. It had been expected by everyone, including the twins, that they would die together too, someday.

Instead, Edward Nygma had killed Kristen. Tearing a whole in two. And for that, he had to pay. It still disgusted Crystal to have to play the part of a lovesick maiden. The paper dolls had been an old habit of hers, done with her past crushes. But to feature Nygma in this age-old rite felt wrong, like a tree growing sideways. Yet, it had convinced the mayor. So, it had paid off. 

Crystal let herself sob for a while longer. Then, she forced herself to stop. Swallowed down the tears. Then, she went to the bathroom to clean herself up. Tonight, after all, she had a date.

***

It was six o'clock before anyone knew it.

Fleury stood before her mother's full-length mirror, carefully applying some transparent gloss to her lips. That, and a touch of eyeliner, was all the make-up that she had applied. Mama had never let her wear any more than that. She said that cosmetics debased women. Fleury didn't mind too much.  
Inhaling deeply, she took another look at herself. She had spent hours trying to make herself look as good as possible, while still staying comfortable. After quite a bit of trial and error, she had at last opted for one of her grandmother's old dresses. Like her grandmother and mother, Fleury was rather buxom in build - something that wasn't usually obvious, given her XXL-sized clothes. Said dress was midnight-blue, long-sleeved, and floor-length. The velvet was soft against her skin, which was accustomed to cotton and denim. The dress was just large enough to keep Fleury comfortable, but it was a bit more snug that what she was used to.  
A couple of holes, easily mended, had been cut into the back to let her wings out. She had polished her wings with almond oil, and smiled at how they glimmered.  
Simple, ballerina slippers covered her feet, and a string of pearls shone brightly against the dark cloth. Fleury's hair had bene a bit more of a problem. It was waist-long and wild in nature. Thus, it had taken a brush, a comb, and two bottles of mousse to get all the knots out. Now freshly washed and smelling like apricots, her hair flowed glossily down her back. A pair of pins kept most of it out of her face.

And now, the finishing touch. A corsage, consisting of a full, blue rose. 

Fleury had just picked it up when she caught a reflection in the looking glass. An ashen-faced, stricken reflection. Turning, Fleury met her mother's eyes. In many ways, she resembled her mother: a bit on the short side, the same build, and wild hair. Mama had always said, however, that Fleury had gotten her coloring - her olive skin, denim-blue eyes, and dark brown hair - from her father's side. Fleury knew it to be true, had seen it in her half-siblings. But she tried not to think about it. Smiling timidly, she offered her mother the corsage. "Do you want to pin it on me, Mama?"

Mama shook her head disapprovingly. "Your grandmother would roll in her grave if she knew that you were wearing her dress for this freakshow."

Fleury hid her hurt with a joke. "I'd like to see that: we cremated her."

Mama scowled. She stepped into the room, her graying blonde hair flowing behind her. "Please, just take off that dress, Fleury. You're not fooling anyone."

"Mama, it's modest!" Fleury protested.

"Call the mayor and tell him you're not going." Mama pressed, her eyes bloodshot. Ever since Fleury had told her hours earlier, Mama had done nothing but cry. "Tell him...tell him you're sick." She shook her head. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Or you could just be happy for me." Fleury suggested, even though she knew that such a notion would never be realized. Turning around, she pinned the corsage on her dress. Trying not to think about how lonely that made her feel. She looked to the clock. It was five minutes to six.

"He's not coming. It's a trick." Mama spoke, as if she'd known what Fleury was thinking (she usually did). "This was all a cruel trick, Fleury. Don't you see. He doesn't give a shit about you. Nobody does, except me."

"Mama. Stop." Fleury's wings twisted. Her hands curled and uncurled into fists. "I'm nervous enough as it is."

"Fleury, think about it!" Mama insisted. "He's the mayor! He's the richest, most powerful man in Gotham. Of all the men - or women - he could have invited to the Founder's Dinner, why would he invite you?"

"Maybe," Fleury tried to keep the anger and fear out of her voice, "because he likes me."

"Likes you?" Mama laughed. "Come now, that's demented! Why would he like you? Look at yourself!" Mama grabbed Fleury's wings, holding them up for her to see. "Do you think he's impressed?"

Fleury yanked herself free of her mother's grip just in time to hear a car door closing. Blinking back the tears that had started to form, she looked out the window. Her heart soared. Outside their apartment building was a long, sleek black limousine. Oswald Cobblepot himself limped out of the passenger's seat, dressed regally in dark blue and purple. Fleury's smile threatened to split her face in two. "See, Mama?" She turned to her mother, taking her hands. "It's going to be all right." But Mama was not reassured. She looked ready to have a stroke. Fleury knew that if she stayed any longer, that was exactly what would happen. You don't spend the last eleven years waiting on your mother hand and foot without learning the ins and out of her turbulent health. "Remember to take your heart medication tonight, as well as the medicine for your thyroid and your hemroids." Fleury took her small purse and slung it over her shoulder. "I'll be back by ten-thirty."

Without waiting for her mother to say anything, Fleury opened the window and let her wings carry her down. Experience taught her to keep her hands planted on the sides of the dress, lest a draft recreate that famous Marilyn Monroe image. Gliding down to the pavement, she stood before the mayor. Smiling sheepishly. He looked stunned, blinking as though some dust had gotten into his eye. For the briefest of seconds, Fleury felt afraid. Afraid that, maybe, her mother had been right all along.  
Nervously, she asked, "Do I look okay?"

Oswald gave a timid smile. "You look beautiful."

Fleury, who had never been called 'beautiful' in her twenty-eight years of life, felt her entire being take flight. And her wings had nothing to do with it.

***

Oswald had expected a long-haired woman with wings growing out of her back. But he hadn't expected her to look so wonderful, or so eager. The way her entire face lit up when he told her, truthfully, that she was beautiful, had been impossible to miss. He found himself looking to her during their trip towards the dinner. Fleury, in turn, examined everything in the car with child-like fascination. She tasted all of the snacks available, played with the windshields, and tested out the seats. It was clear as day that she had never been in a limousine before, and Oswald felt more than a little proud that he'd offered her a new experience.

At last, with everything properly explored, Fleury settled in the seat next to Oswald's, her manicured hands twitching nervously. "So," she drawled, "what can we expect tonight? Classical music? Butlers putting the napkins on our laps? About ten different utensils?"

Oswald chuckles. "Yes, essentially. Are you instructed on how to dine on such formal occasions?"

A shadow passed over Fleury's face. "It wouldn't be the first time I've attended a fancy-shmancy dinner."

"Oh?" Oswald tilted his head.

"Yeah, but it's a boring story." Fleury quickly added. She propped her head against her fist, eyes fixed on him. "What about you? How are you feeling?" Her voice softened with compassion. Oswald blushed. He had hoped - perhaps a little stupidly - that she had forgotten about him being a sobbing mess. Kind of a false hope, in retrospect. It had been less than twenty-four hours ago, after all. Brushing aside his discomfort, he smiled. "I am perfectly fine, thank you."

Fleury did not look entirely convinced. Nevertheless, she accepted his answer. "Okay!" She clapped her hands. "How long until we meet with the fancy folk?"

"Uh," Oswald consulted the street signs outside, "about twenty minutes."

Fleury blinked. "Wow. I've lived this close to the upper crust's clubhouse this entire time?" She leaned back in her seat. "Joke's on me." Her brow furrowed in thought before smoothing out again. "To kill the time, would you like to play 'two truths and a lie'?"

Oswald blinked, now genuinely at a loss. "I beg your pardon?"

"Two truths and a lie." Fleury repeated. "It's a game where two people reveal three things about themselves. Two of them are true, while the third is..." She gestured to him.

"A lie?" He finished lamely.

"Yeah!" Fleury grinned. "What do you say?"

Oswald wanted to say 'no'. For one thing, he had never played the game in his life. He had never had friends to play the game with. To do so now felt superfluous and pointless. Besides, he had never been especially open, even with those of his inner circle (which, until last year, had been his mother - and nobody else). What could he tell about himself without giving this woman something to use against him later? The slightest detail could be sharpened into a weapon.  
But something stopped him. The earnestness in those denim-blue eyes, mixed with nervousness. Something about those eyes told him that he could trust her - in this, at least.

Finally, he sighed. "Very well. But you go first."

Fleury seemed to think nothing of it. Straightening, she spoke. "First, I'm ambidextrous. Next," she patted her purse, "my ringtone is the _Fright Night_ theme. The 1985 one, not the remake."

Oswald snorted. "Really?"

"Can't beat the classics." Fleury remarked before stating her final 'fact'. "My birthday is June 4th."

Oswald started. That was his birthday. How could she have known? Was this some sort of trick already? Struggling to keep calm, he carefully considered the facts that he had been presented with. He thought long and hard until at last presenting her with his theory. "Ambidextrous people are rare. Only one percent of the population, in fact. So, I think you lied on that one."

Fleury looked impressed. "Very good. Indeed," she held up her left hand, "I'm a lefty." She rolled her shoulders. "The other two facts were real. See?" Extracting her phone, she pushed a couple of buttons. Within seconds, a wonderfully eighties song was filling the interior of the limousine. A grinning Fleury tapped her feet in rhythm with it. In spite of himself, Oswald found himself doing the same. Deep inside, he found a part of himself thawing. At last, when the song ended, the two leaned back. Oswald hesitated before saying, "I believe it's my turn."

"Yes." Fleury shifted so that she was facing him. "I'm all ears."

Oswald considered his options carefully. Fleury had not given away any critical information about herself, as was typical of this sort of game. True, the most sly of minds could use anything against their opponent. But in this case, the Penguin found himself calming down a bit. What he was about to say did not go beyond what could be found in his files. If this woman ever wanted to betray and attack him, she would have no more advantages than any of his other foes.  
Inhaling deeply, he spoke. "I...was also born on June 4th."

Fleury's eyes widened.

"I am an only child." Oswald continued. "And...I got my first job when I was fourteen." He tried not to smirk. The lie was so close to the truth that he had been able to tell it with ease.

Fleury puzzled over the three facts for about five minutes. Oswald could practically see the gears turning in her face. He could tell, already, that she was no dullard. Her eyes gleamed with wit, and every fiber of her being indicated that she was giving this serious thought. At last, she spoke. "I think...the birthday one's a lie. You must've been born in autumn or winter. I mean, look at you!" She gestured. "You do not look like a summer baby!"

Oswald chuckled. "Well, actually, that one was true."

"Oh." Fleury deflated.

"It was the job one that was false." Oswald chewed his lip. "My...my first job was at thirteen."

Fleury stared at him. "That young?"

"Yes." Oswald tried to play off his embarrassment by laughing. "Mother needed my help, so I got a job waiting tables. It was not the most dignified of professions, granted, but it helped keep bread on the table." He didn't dare mention, of course, that he and his mother had often relied on government food to survive. That they would beg their landlord whenever they could not make the rent, and how said landlord would take other forms of 'payment' with Mother. Nobody knew that, not even Ed. Oswald intended to keep it that way.

"Oswald," Fleury said softly, "I think it's incredibly admirable, what you did. It's nothing to be ashamed of." She placed her hand on his arm. "In fact, it's the opposite." Oswald sensed nothing but sincerity in her words. Just like last night. The thawing within him continued. He offered her a small smile, patting her hand. "Thank you. But let's not dwell on the sorrowful past. Let us instead focus on the wonderful evening ahead."

Fleury grinned, her wings flickering. "Can't wait."

***

At last, they arrived. The limousine slowed to halt before a building that looked like a mixture between a palace and a gigantic piece of onyx. All sorts of elegant people, more wraiths than humans, made their way inside. Upon seeing them, and the edifice that they were entering, Fleury felt her courage abandon her. Mama's words whispered in her ear. She shrank in her seat.  
Oswald instantly sensed her discomfort. "What's the matter?"

"Uh..." Fleury licked her lips. "C...can we just sit here for a minute, please?"

Oswald did not look especially thrilled by this, but he nodded. "Anything you want." He leaned back, adjusting his suit. Fleury didn't see what there was to adjust. He looked perfect. Like he belonged. Unlike her. Oswald seemed to feel her eyes on him and looked her way. She quickly reverted her gaze to the window. A few seconds of silence passed before Oswald spoke up. "By the way, I believe that the corsage is supposed to go on the wrist."

Fleury blinked, looking first to him then at the blue rose. She blushed, feeling like the most idiotic person on the planet. "Sorry."

Oswald brushed her apologies away. "No harm, no foul." His hands reached out, timidly, like pale spiders. "May I?"

Trying to ignore everything that Mama had ever told her about men, and what her own experience had been like, Fleury nodded. Gently, Oswald unpinned the rose from her dress before slipping it on her left wrist. There it rested, fresh and soft and perfect. Fleury smiled down at it. "Thanks." She took a deep, calming breath. "I...I'm ready."

Oswald smiled. "Wonderful." He offered her his arm. She took it, all the while feeling like her heart was going to burst like a water balloon. Together, they stepped out of the vehicle. Oswald paid the driver his dues before leaning against his cane. Fleury found herself providing him with a little additional support, all the while being careful not to give her partner away. Yes, his limp may have been known. But that did not mean that everyone - especially the creme of Gotham - had to see how pronounced it really was. All the while, she struggled to breathe. From the moment they walked through the doors, it was as though they'd stepped into a different world. Soft candlelight cast gentle, charcoal shadows against the lush tapestries and rich carpets. Marble busts and oil paintings comprised the decor. A glittering chandelier hovered high above their heads. The people were no less glamorous. They might as well have walked out of a storybook. The women were all beautiful, slim with perfect hair and gloved hands. The men all wore elegant suits, most of them sporting cigars. 

And, as they walked past, they all turned to stare. And elbow their partners. And whisper.

Fleury gulped. "They're all staring at us." She remembered the word that Mama had used. 'Freakshow'. No doubt, these people were thinking the very same thing now. Her wings wilted like dying flowers behind her. But then, Oswald's hand covered her own. "Don't be afraid," he whispered, "we have just as much a right to be here as they do."

'We', not 'I'. Fleury walked with her head raised.

One long, silent elevator trip later, they were in the setting of the legendary Founder's Dinner. Fleury did not know what she had been expecting, but it far exceeded anything that she had dreamed up. The chamber was almost dark, with a choice selection of candles providing gentle lighting. More velvet drapes. More oil paintings and marble busts. A band of musicians occupied a corner, playing classical music. The window was from floor to ceiling, providing a spectacular view of Gotham. If one were to stand there, they would experience how it is to have the entire city at their feet. From this distance, Gotham was beautiful. An endless sea of glittering, diamond-like lights that reflected the stars above, which seemed so close now. The river, ink-like. It was almost possible to forget what the city was.  
The table, too, was a sight. Only ten places were set (and one of them was for her!), but they were set with the finest china and the best silverware in the city, if not the country. It reminded Fleury of royal banquets that would transpire in fairy tales. 

Overall, Fleury was stunned. If it weren't for the weight of Oswald's hand on hers, she would have been convinced that this was a dream. 

"Fleury?" Oswald's voice pulled her out of her trance. She blinked back to reality, smiling at him. "Yes?"

Oswald gestured to the seats. "Shall we?"

Fleury giggled. "Lead the way."

***

Dinner came and went. On one hand, it felt as though no time passed. On the other, it seemed to never end. There were seven courses in total: honey-lamb skewers, kidney pie, fermented crab, vegetable stew, salad, candied fruits, and custard. Oswald had never eaten such rich food in all his life, even with his newfound good fortune. Indeed, this meal made his typical foodstuffs look like peasant dishes by comparison. As much as he would have liked to stuff his face, he kept himself under control. He was pleased to see that Fleury, too, kept an eye on her table manners (although she had to ask him a few times on which utensil to use). As they ate, Oswald spoke not only with her but their fellow diners. Tonight was a golden opportunity, after all, to find new allies. Oswald found exactly that, exchanging contact information with a couple of judges and three politicians. If he should need anything, he would call them - and he would make it worth their while. And, unlike Jim, they would appreciate it. 

Much to his relief, nobody gave Fleury a hard time. True, they all stared. Quite a few whispered. And nearly everyone asked to touch her wings at some point. But Fleury did not seem to mind. All those that ran their fingers over the glassy, blue surface came away fascinated. It made him that much more curious to know how they felt. But he found himself holding back; he still felt that he'd gone too far by touching her hand. Feeling her discomfort radiating off her like heat from an oven, he'd found himself acting on impulse, on sentiment. And sentiment could be dangerous.  
All the same, he couldn't say that he wasn't having a good time. Or that Fleury wasn't a good date.

And yet, he found himself still wishing that it had been Edward to accompany him. His one true love, not his second choice.

Oswald was pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle tug at the arm. Fleury fumbled with her hands, as if unsure of what to do with them. "Oswald..." She swallowed nervously. "Why am I here?"

Oswald blinked. "Because I invited you."

"But why?" There was an honest confusion in her tone that nipped at Oswald like a cold wind. Perhaps because he knew that, if he were to tell the truth, it would upset her. To say the least. Instead, he avoided the question. "What does it matter? We're here." He gestured to the chamber, where the plates were being cleared and the wine was being served again. "I'm having a...lovely time with you," he managed to say, "and I hope you are, with me."

Fleury smiled shyly, nodding. She seemed ready to say more when something seemed to catch her eye. "Who invited Beavis and Butt-Head?"

"What?" Oswald turned to see two huge, bulky men - wrestlers, they seemed - emerging from the servants' entrance. They wore butlers' garb - poorly. Sharing a nod, they split up. One locked the door from whence they'd come. The other made quick work of the doors that led to the elevator. 

Oswald noticed Fleury's wings rising, like hair along a dog's back. "Oswald," the woman said lowly, her eyes on the men, "I think we should leave."

A loud gunshot shattered the silence. Screams of surprise and terror followed. Oswald jolted, blinking wildly, looking for the source. He found it in a heartbeat. A young man with shoulder-length, wavy hair the color of chestnuts. A mustache and a goatee. Dressed, likewise, in servant's garb. But he was holding a pocket watch in one hand, and a pistol in another. Smoke was still rising from the pistol.

Oswald felt the inside of his stomach turn to ice. "Fleury," he grabbed a clean knife that he hadn't used, "I'm sorry, but I hope you don't mind bloodshed."

"Eh," Fleury shrugged, "this is Gotham. Comes with the territory."

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The man declared. "As you might have noticed, tonight there's been a change of program." He placed his hand on his chest. "My name is Jervis Tetch, and tonight, I would like all of you to try a very special vintage." He snapped his fingers, and his two goons produced a bottle of wine that had no cork in it. One by one, the glasses were filled with a liquid that was as dark and bodied as blood. "This wine is one that I've made myself," Jervis boasted, "and once you drink it, well...you'll go wild." He laughed at his own joke, positioning himself at the head of the table. "Now, please. Take a drink."

Oswald scowled. "And if we don't?"

Jervis did not like that. He turned to his two henchmen. "Tweedle-Dee? Tweedle-Dum?"

They both produced machine guns, holding one in each hand. The patrons squawked with terror, petrified to their seats. Oswald felt Fleury stiffen beside him. "Tetch..." She whispered. "I think I read about this guy. His sister had some weird blood condition..." Looking to their chalices, Fleury's eyes widened. "Oswald, whatever you do, don't drink it."

"I wasn't planning to." Oswald whispered.

"Also, I think I have an idea." Fleury whispered. "Just trust me, okay? No outbursts."

Oswald frowned. "How would you know-"

"Please." Fleury's eyes met his, pleading. "Just trust me. Okay? Please."

Oswald looked into her eyes, and something in them compelled him to nod. Fleury closed her eyes, took a calming breath, and rose. This caught Tetch's attention immediately. "Ah, ah, ah, my dear." He brazenly pointed the pistol at her. "Sit back down."

"I've heard about you. Jervis Tetch." Fleury slowly began to approach him, raising her hands to show that she wasn't armed. Every eye in the room was on her. Yet she held eye contact with Tetch alone. "A world-famous hypnotist. Pretty impressive stuff. I assume that's what the watch is for? Just in case we misbehaved?"

"Very astute," Tetch nodded, "but now, my dear, I'm really going to have to insist. Sit, or I'll be forced to ruin that lovely gown of yours."

Fleury continued to slowly move towards him. 

Tetch fired twice. Two holes appeared in the floor inches from where Fleury stood. Oswald had to bite down on his knuckles to keep from screaming. "Those were warning shots." Tetch stated.

"What is that mutant doing?" One of the men next to Oswald asked. "She's going to get herself killed!"

The woman next to him shrugged. "Better her than us."

Oswald scowled. Before he could lose his temper, however, Fleury spoke up. "I heard about your sister's death. I'm very sorry for your loss."

There. A twitch. A shiver. So small that it was almost invisible. "Yes. Her name was Alice."

"Alice." Fleury nodded. "Delightful name. I think one of my aunts is named that." She continued to slowly move towards him. "Your sister's blood is in this wine, isn't it? Her infectious blood?" Her words triggered a wave of disgust in the crowd. Tetch barely seemed to hear them. He nodded. "This city took my love from me," he stated, his voice cracking, "so I'm plunging it into insanity."

Fleury nodded. "I understand. When you lose someone you love, a part of you goes with them. I understand that." Were those tears that she was blinking back? Either Fleury was a terrific actress, or this was genuine. "I never lost anyone like you did, Jervis. I actually have two half-siblings. A brother and a sister, both older. Their father had an affair with my mother. He tried so hard to make us all get along. But they rejected me." Her voice, too, cracked. "They hated me. They called me a bastard, and said that I'd never be a part of the family. So, I never had what you had with Alice."

"Yes." Tears ran down Tetch's cheeks. "She and I...there was a love there, a bond, that few could ever understand."

"I can only imagine. And I envy you, Jervis." Fleury was close to him now. Almost at arm's length. "You didn't deserve this. And neither did she."

Tetch was openly crying now. His gun was lowered. "I miss her..." He whimpered. "I miss her so much."

Fleury's eyes sparkled with unshed tears. She opened her arms. "Would you like a hug?"

Tetch, still sobbing, nodded. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. A comical sight, given that she was a head shorter than him. Tetch returned the embrace, weeping in her shoulder like a boy who'd fallen from a tree. He crumbled to his knees. Fleury went down with him, stroking his back and holding him close. Even her wings coiled around him, wrapping them both in a shimmering blue chrysalis. Oswald was speechless. So was everyone else. Even Tetch's henchmen didn't seem to know what to do. The only sounds in the room was Tetch's uncontrollable wailing.

By the time the police arrived to take Tetch away, he was too spent to put up a fight. His goons had a bit more fight in them, but a few tasers to the face quickly put an end to that. The evening ended soon after, and the crowd dispersed.

As Oswald drove Fleury home, he found himself asking her what she had been thinking. "You could've been killed."

Fleury shrugged. "I read about his sister's death in the papers, so it wasn't hard to figure out that he was acting out of grief." She wrinkled her nose. "Granted, I think that he's a bit...deluded about the reality of their relationship. But he was still grieving. I just gave him what anyone would want in that moment: a shoulder to cry on."

Oswald stared at her for a long time, entranced. Without thinking, he took her hand. "My dear," he said, "I truly believe that this is a night to remember."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought!
> 
> Also, note: June 4th is Robin Lord Taylor's birthday, which is why I used it.


	3. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed gets quite a shock when he sees Isabella wearing glasses identical to Ms. Kringle's, making her resemble his dead girlfriend even more. Little does he does that 'Isabella' did this deliberately. She doesn't just want to kill him: she wants to make it linger. Ed flees and begs Oswald to end his relationship for him, afraid of hurting his new love the same way he did the previous one. Oswald is all too happy to do so. Of course, Isabella won't let go that easily.
> 
> Fleury, while doing a favor for Victor, runs into someone that she had hoped to never see again. Tearfully, she calls Oswald, looking for support. Oswald, who has never had to play this role before, finds himself unsure of his lines.

Spending another night with her sister's murderer was nothing short of torture. Having to keep that saccharine smile plastered on her face for the entire evening, forcing herself to kiss him back, to remove his clothes as quickly as he did hers, to feel him enter her, had nearly caused Crystal to break down more than once. She looked into those big, brown eyes, and saw her sister's face reflected back in them: gasping and choking for air as his hands tightened around her throat. Everything they did together, she saw him doing with Kristen. How her sister must have trusted this man in the end, how she must have loved him! But Edward had been fire: so mesmerizing, you don't realize you're being set ablaze. 

A similar, much darker fire burned within Crystal. It was all that allowed her to make it through the night without losing her sanity.

Now, as Edward covered her eyes and led her to the kitchen, she struggled to keep breathing. She didn't like having any of her senses stolen while in his presence. He may have appeared to be stable, but it was an illusion, just like the very image of solidness was an illusion. She could not let her guard down, even for a second.

Edward's voice was right next to her ear. His warm breath pressed against her skin, causing it to crawl. "What must be broken before it can be used?"

Oh, come on. Even children could figure that one out. "Eggs."

Edward removed his hands from her face. "Correct as always!" Crystal's jaw dropped, partially out of real surprise. The kitchen table sat before her, a vision of order and perfection. There were two servings of omelets and chopped tomatoes, two mugs of coffee, and two glasses of orange juice. Between them was a small bowl of sliced fruit. As she looked upon the scene, Crystal felt a pang of regret. She had dated many men throughout her life, looking for that fabled 'soulmate'. While many of them had been nice, none of them had gone out of their way to do something like this for her. The most she could usually hope for was a cup of coffee - and even that didn't happen until the third or fourth time they'd slept together. And yet, after just over a week, Edward had given her a breakfast that made the Pancake House look like a dingy diner. Of all the men in the world, why did her sister's killer have to go the distance?

Quickly recovering, she reflected his huge smile. "Oh, Edward. You spoil me." 

"You make it easy," was his readied response. They shared a kiss. Crystal almost recoiled. Almost. As they pulled away, an idea came to her. Something that would disturb dear ol' Ed just a little. Of course, her plan had still a ways to go. She was still working on getting those drugs, but Gotham shared one thing in common with the mainland: irritating, endless bureaucracy. In a town where well-known assassins could walk without a care in the world, drugs were sold almost as easily as candy, and police corruption was as blatant as colors on a poster, you could not acquire certain pharmaceuticals without a medical license. But until that day came, Crystal could give Edward a little taste of what she'd felt. Just enough to rock his fragile little world, mirroring how he'd utterly destroyed hers.

"I'm going to miss you." Edward stated as he stood behind her seat, pulling it back for her.

"I'll only be gone two days." Crystal reassured him as she sat down. 

As he pushed the chair back in, gently, Edward replied. "Well, actually, your conference ends at one forty-five on Monday. With traffic, you'll be in Gotham by five-thirty." He sat down across from her. "Which you leave on time today, which I'm sure you will, you'll be gone for forty-four and a half hours. Less than two days."

Crystal tasted her omelet, smiling all the way. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but it was pretty damn tasty. Savory, herbal, and spicy in perfect quantities. Not overcooked; not under-cooked. The right amount of salt and pepper. That, combined with his optimism, made Crystal's stomach wrench. "I will hold onto that thought." She promised him, making sure to look into his eyes and appear to be the love-struck maiden. Edward fell for it, of course. Suddenly, he exclaimed, "Cream! I forgot your cream!" He got up to fetch it. 

Crystal hummed as she continued to eat.

"So, what does one do at a librarian's conference?" Edward asked, closing the fridge behind him. 

Crystal shrugged. "I will bore you."

Edward, towering over her with a pitcher of cream, stopped in his tracks. "Nothing that you could say, do, or think could bore me." He sealed that promise with another kiss. 

Crystal smirked to herself, leaning in for the kill. Or, in this case, the glasses. "In that case, let me read you my schedule." She waited for him to sit down before extracting her glasses. Well, they were hers now. Once upon a time ago, before Kristen had left home to move to Gotham, those glasses had been hers. She had forgotten them in her haste to make it to the train station in time. Crystal, who had had the exact same prescription as her, wound up using them when her own pair broke. After Kristen's death, Crystal kept them as closely as a photograph or locket. They had been hers, and that had made them worth more than all the gold in the world. 

Now, they would be used against her killer.

The effect was instantaneous. "Where did those glasses come from?" Edward asked, sounding as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

Trying not to smile, Crystal spoke casually. "These? These are my backup pair. I usually wear contacts. I thought you knew that." Taking a moment to enjoy how chalk-white Edward's face had become, how stricken his expression, she asked, "Is something wrong?" A clattering noise seized her attention. Looking down, she saw Edward's hand on the table. Trembling uncontrollably. "Edward, what is it?" She softened her tone just enough to sound concerned. Leaning forward, she reached for his hand. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The second their hands touched, Edward did what Crystal had been wanting to do this entire time and yanked his hand away. He barely managed an, "Excuse me," before darting into the bathroom. Crystal watched him go. Behind her glasses, her jade eyes were flat and cold. Now, Edward had felt a thousandth of what she did, every minute of every day. He deserved so much worse. But this was an acceptable start.

***

Fleury's morning was like any other: giving her mother a sponge bath. She had been doing it since she was seventeen, and the years had paid off. Once, it would have taken her hours to get her mother clean. Now, she could do it in forty-five minutes, tops.

Afterward, she mopped up the excess soapy water and opened the bathroom window to let in some cool, albeit smoggy, air. Then, with the aid of her wings, she made it back in time to brush her mother's damp hair. Mama looked in the mirror as she did so. Fleury wondered if Mama could still see the young woman she once was. Before her stroke eleven years ago. Before Fleury came along, and ruined her life. But of course, she didn't ask. There was silence between the two for a long time, as was customary. Mama broke it. "So. You're still seeing the mayor?"

Fleury nodded. "Yes, Mama. We've been dating for more than a week now."

Mama hummed. "And he's paid for everything?"

"Yes, Mama." Fleury answered dutifully. "He won't let me pay for a thing. He's a real gentleman."

Mama scoffed. "Has he asked for anything in return?"

Fleury's breathing hitched, but she spoke as calmly as she could, gently working on a knot with the brush. "Like what?"

"You know." Mama replied sourly. "What all men want."

Fleury's mouth tightened. "No, Mama. We haven't even held hands yet. Like I said, Oswald is a real gentleman."

Mama scoffed. "Yes, until he gets what he's after. Then, he'll toss you aside like a broken sandal and never think about you again." A clammy hand reached out and rested on Fleury's, halting her mid-brush. "And when that day comes, sweetheart, I'll be there. I won't even say 'I told you so'."

Fleury patted her mother's hand before proceeding with her task. "Thank you, Mama. But I don't think Oswald's like that."

"And I didn't think your father was like that." Mama easily retorted. "When his wife was back in Italy for her father's funeral, he swept me off my feet. He bought me jewelry, fine clothes, treated me like a queen. I thought that he loved me. But when I told him I was pregnant with you, you know what happened?"

"He ended your affair and paid you thirty grand a year to never tell anyone. And to support me." Fleury recited from memory. "He stopped ten years ago, when I turned eighteen."

"And boy, have we been feeling the pinch." Mama sighed. "Oh, well. Before Mr. Cobblepot discards you, be sure to keep whatever expensive gifts he offers you. We can make a mint off those."

Fleury chewed on her lip. "Or, Mama...maybe he legitimately likes me." She tried.

"Yes, and maybe the crime rates in Gotham aren't so bad." Mama rolled her eyes. "You've been flying for too long, Fleury. You need to get your feet on the ground."

Fleury said nothing, but underneath the mask, she was breaking. She and Oswald got along fine, and she enjoyed his company very much. He was unlike anyone that she had ever met: elegant, well-spoken, bright, and wielding a confidence that in fact concealed a deep vulnerability. The more time she spent with him, the more she looked forward to seeing him again. But she would have been lying if she'd claimed that her feelings ended there. Every moment she was with him, she wondered: _why? Why do you want to be with me? Are you just really grateful for me comforting you that night? Or is it something else?_  
And now, here Mama was, feeding that uncertainty. Letting it grow so much that it blocked out her happiness in the same way that a heavy cloud obscures the sun.

Barely holding herself together, Fleury pulled back. "Your hair's all brushed, Mama."

"Good." Mama began to braid it. She met Fleury's eyes in the looking glass. "I can make my own lunch. But I want you here by supper."

"Yes, Mama." Fleury leaned forward, pecked her mother's cheek, and made a beeline for her bedroom. Her violin. She needed to channel her hurt feelings into music, lest they choke her. Fleury had just gotten the case when her cellphone began to vibrate. Whipping it out, she saw the name 'Victor Zsasz'. Oswald had insisted that she exchange numbers with his number-one man, just in case. Fleury had found it to be a bit much, but hadn't argued. In part because, if their brief conversation on the day of the Founder's Dinner was any indication, Victor was actually a pretty stand-up guy. Even if he was a hitman for hire. This was Gotham. Everyone had to earn a living to the best of their abilities.  
Fleury answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Madam Butterfly!" Victor breezily greeted her. "How ya doin'?"

"Uh, fine, thank you." Fleury blinked, unused to casual conversation. "And yourself?"

"Eh, can't complain." Victor snickered. "Actually, yes I can. Uh, sorry to bug you-"

" _Bug_ me. Ha, ha." Fleury rolled her eyes, her wings twitching behind her.

"What? Oh, no! Sorry!" Victor actually sounded aghast. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"No, no. It's fine." Fleury assured him. "So, what's wrong?"

"I need a favor. Sorry." Victor sighed. "My friend, Mr. Headhunter, is at the Gotham General Hospital. I'm there right now, and they're about to let me in to see him. Only problem is, I was in such a hurry to get here I forgot to get him some donuts. Would you mind? I'll pay you back." He added quickly.

"Donuts?" Fleury, for some reason that she could not put into words, found the idea of a pair of hitmen sharing a box of donuts to be incredibly funny. "Okay. What kind?"

"Raspberry-filled for him, plain-with-sprinkles for me." Victor replied. "And you? Get yourself something tasty. I owe you that much."

Fleury chuckled. "Okay. I live within spitting distance of a bakery. I'll get a dozen there."

"You're an angel. Quite literally." Victor chuckled. "See ya soon."

"Okay, bye." Fleury hung up, surprised by how normal this all felt. Then again, Victor could have called her to help him get rid of a body and she still would have agreed. The oppressive atmosphere in this apartment, which was just one giant expansion of Mama, was too much to bear. Fleury grabbed her purse, slung her violin case over her shoulder, and flew out the window.

***

Oswald would never have imagined that he would one day visit the woman who had stolen Ed from him. That is, unless he intended to burn the place down. And yet, as he approaching Isabella's door, he felt light and happy. He was here for Ed's sake, as per his request. Ed, fearing that he will hurt Isabella as he did Kristen, asked Oswald to 'gently' end things between them. Oswald was more than happy to do as his friend asked. Maybe he wouldn't do it exactly as Ed had wanted, but what difference did it make? Their relationship was over anyway. Besides, after all the misery that Oswald had been subjected to - all the nights of drinking and weeping and pining - didn't he deserve a little satisfaction? Sure, Fleury had been a pleasing distraction, but nothing else. The entire time that he was with her, he thought of Ed. Now, with Isabella out of the picture, all would be as it should be: Ed would realize that the right person was right in front of him all along, Oswald could gently dismiss Fleury since he had no need nor use of her anymore, and the mutant could go back to living her life. Everybody wins.

It didn't take long after he'd knocked for the wench to answer. Dressed in a modest, yet form-fitting black dress, her hair swept up in a bun, she was the perfect blend of 'modest' and 'flirtatious'. No doubt, Ed's eyes had leered hungrily over her slim, yet curvy figure, too many times to count. Oswald hated her even more because of that. "Mayor Cobblepot?" She sounded more than a little stunned to have him there.

"Hello, Isabella." Oswald simpered. "May I?"

"Er..." Isabella nodded, stepping aside. "Of course." The shock still hadn't left her eyes. Good. Oswald hobbled past her, entering a simple yet elegant living room. Spotting some suitcases, he asked, "Going somewhere?"

"Just for a couple of nights." Isabella fumbled with her hands. "I was hoping to talk to Ed before I left. Tried calling him. Is he okay?" She approached him curiously.

Oswald tightened his hold on his cane. "Hm. Yes. How shall I put this?" He waited for a moment, making the woman stew in anticipation. Finally, with a wide smile, he dropped the bomb on her (not literally, although he would have gladly done that, too). "It's over!"

Isabella blinked, then frowned. A confused little smile sat stubbornly on her pink lips. "Excuse me?"

"He is not going to see you anymore." Oswald spoke slowly, as if holding a conversation with a rather dim-witted child. "Do not try to contact him. That door is closed." He smirked, watching it slowly dawn on the harlot's face. "Have a nice life."

He might as well have told her that she had six months to live. Isabella gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, and crumbled on the couch. Her head was bowed, tears glittering on her lashes like morning dew. "Oh, my." Her voice trembled.

Oswald nodded. "It is a shock. But besides your...odd resemblance to his ex, a certain facility with riddles..." He drifted off, spotting those insipid paper people again. "...Compulsion for order..." He snapped back to the woman. "What is it that you two really have in common? Edward is a person of exceptional intelligence and imagination. He deserves to be appreciated by someone on his own level. And you, my dear, are simply not." This did not come even remotely close to the vitriol he wanted to spew at her. But he was, above all things, a gentleman. Oswald tilted his head. "Best to end things now."

Isabella whispered, "You're right. I don't deserve him."

Oswald tried not to skip as he began to shuffle away. "Glad we agree. Bye!"

"But I'm not going to let him go." Isabella sniffled, rising once again. Oswald froze, glaring at her, as she dared to smile at him. "He loves me, and I love him. Do you know how rare that is, Mr. Mayor?" Oswald could only gape at her, his mouth a hard line and his skin feverish with hatred.

Isabella's face shifted with understanding. "Of course you do. Because you love him, too. I can see it." She approached him slowly, causing him to bristle even more. "I'm not even jealous!" Oswald chewed the inside of his cheek, feeling very much like a caged animal, and found himself babbling. "I don't think that you-"

"It was my glasses this morning. They reminded him of Ms. Kringle. He thinks that he's going to hurt me like he hurt her." Isabella reasoned. Stubbornly. Refusing to listen to anyone but herself. Oswald had, at this point, had enough. He took a single step towards her. Their noses were inches apart. "Listen to me, you little idiot." He hissed. "I am telling you one last time: let. Ed. Go."

"No." Isabella retorted. "I will write to him. I will make him understand. I'm not gonna let him go." She smiled at him, love-struck and determined. Like a praying mantis that doesn't realize that it's about to have its head bitten off. Oswald, for one moment, considered doing away with her right then and there. It wouldn't be hard. He was crippled, but he was strong. But...no. That would be too easy. Too messy. Ed might figure it out. Oswald's smile was as sharp and cold as a scalpel. "Very well. Don't say I didn't warn you."

***

Hugging the box of steaming donuts to her chest, Fleury moved quickly. Hospitals had always been one of her least favorite places, and not just because it reminded her of her time in Arkham. The all-white aesthetic. The stench of bleach and death. The patients, all waiting to die, and the doctors, numb to it all. Yet Fleury made it to the front desk with few issues. Quite a few people were staring at her wings, wondering what they were as they hung from her back, but she was used to the looks by now. "Excuse me," she said to the nurses, "I'm looking for Mr. Headhunter. Which room is he in?"

The nurse paled at the name. "He's in Room 503." Her voice was thin and reedy with fear. "V-Victor Zsasz is there, now."

"Perfect. They're probably famished." Fleury snickered. "Thank you."

"Fleury?"

She stopped. Hoping, praying, that she'd misheard. The voice was older, but she recognized it immediately. Slowly, she turned towards it. Her stomach formed a double-knot. A tall man in an impeccable white coat was walking towards her. Beneath said coat, he wore a button-up blue shirt and pants that, combined, probably cost more than Fleury's entire wardrobe. He had clear, olive skin and hair a couple of shades lighter than hers. His clear blue eyes shone with intelligence, and his teeth looked like they belonged in a toothpaste commercial. Many women had - and probably still did - found him incredibly handsome. But the only response he triggered in Fleury was horror. He simpered at her, but she saw the aggression in that smile. The hunger. Like a panther ready to tackle an unsuspecting zebra.

"Dr. Calvi," the nurse said, "do you know this girl?"

"Yes, of course I do." Mario reached out and tucked some wild hair behind Fleury's ear. She shuddered. "She's my little sister."

The nurse's jaw dropped. "Really?"

"Why, yes!" Grabbing Fleury by the shoulders, he forced her to stand beside him. "Don't you see the resemblance?"

"Half-sister." Fleury corrected stiffly.

"Oh, don't be like that." Mario chuckled. Eyeing her wings, he asked, "Still immune to normalcy, I see." His fingers caressed them. As if they were his to touch. They writhed like snakes. If only they could bite him. Fleury quickly broke free of his hold. "Well, it's been great seeing you, Mario. But I gotta go. I have a meeting with friends."

"Friends?" Mario laughed. "Since when do you have any of those?"

"Since now." Fleury answered tersely. "Room 503. They kill people for pay and for sport, so maybe you shouldn't come along." She knew that she sounded tough, but deep down, she was scared out of her mind. Her hands were trembling even now, and his hands had left burn marks where he'd touched her. 

Mario raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, then. Still, we must catch up one of these days. You still living with your mother?"

Fleury's eye twitched. "My mother had a stroke. Of course I'm living with her. Who else is going to take care of her?" Their father certainly hadn't. Not enough, anyway.

"Certainly not me. I think I'm above your mother's pay grade." He winked at her. "Well, I don't want to keep you from your friends. Have fun, little sister."

"Half-sister." Fleury repeated. Her wings came to life, turning to blue blurs. Her feet left the ground. Everyone around to witness it - except for Mario - gasped in shock. In a second, she was gone. But she could still feel his hands on her. Soiling her. Just like last time.

When she made it to Room 503, she found Victor Zsasz sitting in the plastic chair beside the bed. The pale light was hitting his bald head in a way that almost made it glow. Lying in the bed, with his leg in a cast, was an African-American man who matched Victor in both size and lean muscle. Although the man - Mr. Headhunter - had hair. An entire, dyed white stripe of it. "Hey!" The man exclaimed when Fleury flew in. "You weren't kidding, Vic! This lady can fly!"

"Told you!" Victor clapped his gloved hands, rising from the seat. "Hey, Fleury. Thanks so much." He clapped her on the shoulder as she lowered herself to the floor. Smiling, he took the box and peered inside. "Oh, wow! It's a party in here." He looked back at her. "Wanna join?"

"Oh." Fleury hugged herself. "I don't want to intrude."

"It's not intruding if I asked." Victor turned to Headhunter. "We don't mind, do we, Wendell?"

"You kidding?" Headhunter laughed. "Come on in, girl. Grab a seat. Don't be shy."

They both seemed so friendly, so welcoming. Fleury, who until recently only had her mother for company, would have loved to join them. Sit down and eat donuts and listen to the no doubt fascinating stories that they had to tell. It would have been the closest thing she'd ever been to having friends.  
But her encounter with Mario had shaken her. She felt like she would be sick any minute. Seeing his face towering over her once again, feeling the ease with which he'd touched her, sensing how gladly he'd do what he'd already done...

"Excuse me." Fleury bolted into the bathroom, propelled by her wings. She hunched over the toilet just in time to see her breakfast again. Half-digested Frosted Flakes gushed out of her, acidic and nasty, along with her coffee. She coughed and spat, trying to breathe. Her stomach twisted again, but nothing came out. Fleury stayed like that for what felt like hours, hands icy and throat burning. But no matter how much she heaved, no matter how much her now-empty stomach churned, the image of Mario refused to leave. 

There came a gentle knock to the door. "Uh, hey."

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Fleury turned around. Victor was standing in the doorway, his brow knitted as he looked at her. Fleury saw herself through his eyes, and winced. "I know, I'm a sight." She sniffled.

Victor rolled his eyes, kneeling beside her. "What's wrong?" He asked her. "You eat some bad seafood or something?"

Fleury shook her head mutely. Reaching behind her, she flushed the toilet. Washing away the evidence of her shame.

Victor wiggled his brows, adopting a lighter tone. "Did you and the boss-?"

Fleury snorted. "Oh, please. He's barely touched me since we started dating. And I can't blame him." She added under her breath. Shaking her head, she tried to smile. "I'm fine. Really."

Victor eyed her a moment longer before shrugging. "If you say so." He stood up, then offered his hand. She took it. He pulled her up with seemingly no effort. "But, for what it's worth..." He reached into his pocket and extracted a packet of...

"Wet wipes?"

"Yeah."

Fleury stared at them. "You carry...wet wipes? Why?"

"My job can get messy at times." Victor told her. "And I don't always have a bathroom to go wash the blood off in. So, I bring these with me. Just in case. But right now, you need them way more."

Fleury winced. "Do I look that bad?" Without waiting for an answer, she claimed one wet wipe and used it to clean her face. Once she was done, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot, and her face was a tad pale. Other than that, she looked normal. "See?" Victor asked, almost as though he'd read her thoughts. "You're okay." Something about the way he said it gave her comfort. Fleury offered Victor a shy smile. "Thank you."

Victor winked at her.

Fleury filled her lungs with air. "Is that donut offer still valid?"

The bald assassin grinned.

***

As the sky darkened outside, with a chill wind picking up, Oswald sat by the fire. Holding a glass of brandy, staring into it thoughtfully, before downing it. Liquid fire rushed down his throat, warming him despite the cold night. Despite him being relatively immobile, his thoughts, by contrast, were all over the place. He thought of his confrontation with Isabella, and what she had forced him to do. Or, rather, what she'd forced him to order. She wasn't worth getting his hands dirty over. A part of him felt guilt over the pain that he would cause Ed. Another, larger part fast-forwarded to the time when Ed would need a shoulder to cry on. And, later on, how Ed would want to ease his loneliness. Sparingly, he thought of Fleury. He might be in need of distractions tonight. Maybe he should give her a call.

In that very moment, his cellphone rang. Looking upon the screen, he saw a close-up image of Fleury's wings. A glassy collage of teal, turquoise, jade, emerald, and azure. So similar to a stain-glass window. Humming, he answered. "Yes, Fleury?"

Inhaling shakily, the mutant whispered, "Oswald?"

Something about her tone indicated that she'd been crying. Oswald straightened in his chair. His woes and plans momentarily set aside. "Fleury? What is it?"

Fleury sniffled. "I...I had a rough day today, and...and I was wondering...well, can we talk?"

"I might be a little busy at the moment, dear." Oswald glanced at the doorway in case Ed returned.

"Oh." Fleury sounded so crestfallen that Oswald immediately added, "But give me half an hour, and you'll have my undivided attention."

"R-really?" Fleury asked in a thin voice. "Thank you so much..."

"Of course." Oswald smiled even though she couldn't see it. "I'll call you in half an hour. Maybe less."

"Thank you." Fleury repeated. "Thank you, thank you..."

Oswald nodded. "You're welcome."

They both hung up, and just as Oswald was wondering what could have happened to shake Fleury up this much, the front door opened. A moment later, it closed. A tall, lean figure passed him by. "Ed!"

His friend stopped, met his gaze, and smiled. A good sign. He was over that bimbo already.

Feigning nonchalance, Oswald asked, "How'd she take it?"

"Oh, everything is...wonderful." Ed simpered. "Isabella showed me that I was worried over nothing."

Oswald wanted to break down and cry, right then and there. The woman was a fungus, growing and thickening despite his best efforts to exterminate her. Hiding his feelings behind a calm mask, Oswald rose, shambled up to Edward, and embraced him. He took a moment to enjoy the feeling of him, the smell, before pulling away. "I am so happy for you. But, why are you back?" He already knew that it wasn't for him.

"Oh, she had to go to her conference. I insisted." 

"You're a good man." Oswald smiled. "But, you must be exhausted. Why don't you tell me all about it tomorrow?"

Ed obliged, and the moment he was out of sight, Oswald let the mask drop. He lurched back into his seat, holding his chin pensively. Wondering at what point Gabe was. As if summoned by his thoughts, one of his favorite right-hand men materialized. Large and saggy and dressed in black, Gabe looked every bit the mobster that he was. There was something about him that both reassured people and put them ill at ease. Oswald had always liked that. It was a handy tool; Gabe's muscles, even more so. Oswald smirked. "Gotta give her credit. She fought for him. Too bad she underestimated her opponent."  
Gabe just stood there like a tree stump. Reminding Oswald that, for all of his usefulness, Gabe probably had all the intelligence of an oyster left out in the sun. Switching to topics that the dullard would better grasp, Oswald asked, "I'm assuming it's done?"

Gabe held up the pliers. "Yup. Feel kinda bad, though, Boss. I always liked librarians."

***

Ten minutes later, Oswald was in his bedroom, another glass of brandy at hand, and calling Fleury back. She sounded a bit calmer, but still in need of a chat. "Now, tell me everything." 

Fleury inhaled shakily. "I...remember how I mentioned how my father and mother had an affair?"

"Yes."

"And that my father had two kids with his legitimate wife?"

"Yes again."

"Well...his two children...they despised me. For years, my parents forced me to spend time with them. Trying to convince us that we were family. We would spend every summer together. For me, it was hell. For them, it was awesome. They got to pull prank after prank, and they always got away with it. As far as my father was concerned, I was making it all up for attention."

Oswald frowned. "What kind of pranks are we talking about?"

"They would short-sheet my bed a lot." Fleury replied. "Once, I took a nap on the veranda and my half-brother put peanut butter in my hair. My sister pushed me in the pool once when I was reading. Indian burns. Tripping me. Pinching me. Hiding my clothes while I was in the shower. It...it never stopped, Oswald. It. Never. Stopped." The devastation in Fleury's told Oswald more than the actual words did. He found himself flashing back to his own past. How the children would throw things at him, spit gum in his hair, call him cruel names, and yes, he too had been tripped countless times.

"I'm sorry." He told her. Knowing how hollow those words sounded.

"It's okay." Fleury replied with a sigh. "I...I didn't have my wings then. I didn't get them until I was twelve."

Oswald blinked. "Wait. So you weren't part of Dr. Strange's batch of monsters?"

"No. I..." Fleury chuckled. "I guess you could say I was a prototype." She was silent for a moment before saying, "I know Strange did terrible things to those people. Mutilated them. Disfigured them. Turned them into something they weren't. But Strange...he helped me. He gave me my wings. He gave me a means to defend myself, finally."

"But why?" Oswald asked, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. "Hugo Strange is a cruel, heartless psychopath. He doesn't care about anything except his career, and his perverse God complex."

Fleury paused. "I'll tell you that story another time."

"What?!" Oswald protested.

"Hey, let me keep some of my mystery." Fleury joked. "If you know me like an open book before we've dated a month, what will we have left to say? These things need to be savored."

Oswald shifted uncomfortably in his seat. So. Fleury really did believe that they were dating. Granted, he hadn't done much to discourage that idea. Since the Founder's Dinner, they had gone out several times. Mostly, they had gone to five star restaurants and strolled through the park. Anyone looking at them might think that they were dating. But the fact that she truly believed that he thought of her that way was...uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes that didn't fit quite right.  
Refusing to ponder over his guilt, Oswald steered the conversation into a different direction. "Fleury, dear, what brought this on? Did something happen?"

"Yeah." Fleury croaked. "I..." Her voice broke. "I saw him today, Oswald. My half-brother. Completely out of nowhere, after years! It caught me completely off-guard!" She was outright sobbing at this point. A cold, skeletal hand reached into Oswald's chest and squeezed his heart as he listened, helplessly, to her stricken weeping. He further sensed that there was something - some incident - that Fleury wasn't telling him about. No one panics this much after running into a childhood bully. Oswald had actively done away with his. So what was she hiding?  
After several minutes of hearing Fleury cry uncontrollably, Oswald decided that it didn't matter. She would tell him. And if she didn't, she was entitled to her secrets. God knew he was hiding quite the secret from her.

"I..." Oswald barely knew what to say. "I'm terribly sorry. That must have been a shock." He paused, nervous, before asking, "Would you like to...come over? Spend the night?"

There was a long pause. In that abyss, Oswald realized what his proposal must have sounded like. "We don't have to do anything!" He added. "I just meant...well, if you don't want to be alone...but I swear to you, I would never take advantage of you that way. I may be many things, but I'm not a scoundrel."

Fleury gave a nervous laugh. "Really, it's okay?"

Oswald smiled in spite of himself. Shocked by his own decision, yet refusing to change it. "Of course it is."

"Well..." He heard the slow smile in Fleury's voice. "Okay. I'll be there in twenty minutes." She paused. "And...Oswald?"

"Yes?"

"T-thank you. Again." Fleury chuckled. "I know, I sound like a broken record, but...thank you. I...you're the first guy I've ever really dated and...well...I couldn't have asked for a better man. Thank you." With that, she hung up.

Oswald stared at the phone, eyes wide, before sighing and leaning back into the cushions. Letting them suffocate him. What on Earth was he getting himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for the kudos! Please let me know what you think! I'd be honored!


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